Second Chances
by SouthernChickie
Summary: When an old acquaintance returns, everyone has to make adjustments.
1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Duncan asked as he and Richie sat down to dinner at Richie's apartment.

"Yeah, Mac," Richie assured him, putting garlic bread on the table. "You know I don't like big parties."

"Okay," Duncan agreed. "It's your birthday. Though, you could have at least let me host dinner."

"My birthday," Richie shrugged. "It's no fun cooking for one, so I don't get to do it much anyway…"

"I could have bought the groceries."

"I wanted to."

"You should have let me do something."

"The food's gonna get cold if you keep babbling," Richie warned him, taking a bite of his own manicotti.

"It's not right," Duncan said, serving himself salad.

"You said I got to pick what we did tonight. This is what I wanted to do."

"Not right doing all this work on your own birthday."

"Mac!" Richie tried to sound stern, but he laughed despite himself.

"I'm just saying," he offered innocently.

"Okay, you've said it. You've established that despite saying it was my decision, you really wanted to call the shots," Richie smirked at him.

"Exactly."

"Good. Now, I did not slave all day over a stove and oven for you to complain that it's cold. So eat."

"Yes, ma'am."

They ate in companionable silence, except for Duncan's occasional chastising of Richie for making his own birthday dinner.

"You didn't make your own cake, did you?" he suddenly asked.

"No… I didn't want one."

"No cake?"

"Mac, I'm not three. I don't have to have cake and ice cream."

"You make me have cake and ice cream."

"Cause it's funny. It's not funny when I do it," Richie explained simply, eying the pasta still on Duncan's plate. "You gonna finish that?"

"Yes," Duncan replied with a laugh. "This is why I should have made dinner. I don't underestimate the capacity of your stomach."

"Haha," Richie droned, taking the last of the garlic bread.

"Why don't I take you out for cake?" he offered.

"Okay, after dinner."

Duncan laughed, looking at the nearly empty table. "It is after dinner."

"So you aren't gonna finish your manicotti?"

Duncan laughed. "Take it."

* * *

Duncan took Richie to his favorite restaurant for his favorite dessert.

"Two coffees and two apple dumplings," he ordered when their waiter approached.

"Didn't even crack a menu, must be regulars," the young man smiled before going to turn in the order.

"So… happy birthday," Duncan said, putting a gift bag on the table.

"Mac, you helped me pay off the repairs on my bike; I told you not to get me anything."

"I know. And honestly, I wasn't going to. But I saw this and I decided you should have it." He pushed the bag across the small table.

With a curious grin, Richie reached into the bag. "It's a book…" he said suspiciously as he pulled it out. "Ryan." He read the fancy gold leaf script on the leather cover of the large volume.

"It's a history of the clan," Duncan explained. "As much as you like to look through my clan history, I thought you'd like it." Richie didn't answer, just stared down at the volume. "I just thought everyone should have a chance to know where they come from… if you don't like it, you can tell me."

"It's not that I don't like it," Richie assured him. "You're right, I do love reading them…It's just…well, I guess I never really thought of myself like that, you know?"

"No, I don't."

"You, you're really a MacLeod. Those books are your history. I'm just named after Jack and Emily."

"You're as much a Ryan as I am a MacLeod," Duncan assured him. "I'm just named after Ian and Mary."

Richie paused. "I guess I never thought of it like that." His lips quirked into a grin and he looked down at the book again, this time opening it. Duncan watched him peruse the pages until their dessert came. Richie carefully replaced the book in its bag. "Don't wanna get it dirty."

They ate their dumplings and sipped at their coffee before heading back to Richie's apartment for a Ghostbusters marathon per Richie's request. They played the movies, but Richie spent most of the evening reading up on the history of the Ryan Clan, only glancing up for his favorite parts.

* * *

Richie awoke the next morning with the book laying open on his chest and a bit of drool on his chin. He could feel the presence of another immortal in the small apartment and heard movement in the kitchen.

"Mac?" he asked a bit groggily.

"Breakfast?" the elder immortal offered.

"I think I got some cereal or something around here," Richie mumbled, stretching and getting off the couch. "You stay the night?"

"Used your room, hope you don't mind."

"Not like I was using it. Why do I smell real food?"

"I went to the store while you were asleep."

With a self conscious grin, Richie opened a formerly bare cabinet that was now stocked with many of his favorite foods.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when you do that?" he asked, peeking in the now full refrigerator. "Aw, you got me beer," he added lovingly. "And pizza," he added looking in the freezer. "I love you, too, Mac."

Duncan chuckled as he blotted the bacon. "Anyone ever tell you how strange you are?"

"Ever consider that you may be the strange one?" Richie shot back setting the table.

"I'm four hundred. Of course I'm strange."

"See? I'm just twenty, I'm normal."

"You're immortal, you're strange."

"Less strange than you."

"I could take all this food back," Duncan threatened.

"MacLeod giveth and MacLeod takeith away."

Duncan laughed and put the platter of French Toast on the table. "Exactly. You better remember that."

"Mmm," Richie inhaled deeply. "MacLeod cookith."

Duncan smiled and shook his head. "Strange." He sat down and served himself before Richie took all the food. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner tonight."

"'kay."

"Would you like to join us?"

Richie studied Duncan. "What kind of friend?"

"One that would be beneficial for you to meet."

"An in-case-you-need-help-and-I'm-not-around friend?"

"Exactly."

Richie shrugged. "Whatever, don't have anything better to do."

"Good. Meet me at the loft tonight at seven. We have reservations for seven forty, so don't be late."

"You just assumed I was going to go?"

"You? Give up free food?" Duncan asked. "Besides, you said it yourself, you don't have anything better to do."

"But you didn't know that."

"I just asked."

Richie shook his head. "Whatever."

"What?" Duncan asked with a smile.

"Nothing."

"What? Are you complaining that I'm taking you out for a nice steak dinner tonight? You want to sit here and eat frozen pizza instead? You can if you want. Save me a good thirty dollars."

"I never said that," Richie protested with a laugh.

"Sure you did," Duncan teased.

Richie grinned and shook his head. "Whatever. I'll be there at seven."


	2. Chapter 2

Richie arrived at the loft promptly at seven as requested and found Duncan waiting for him on the couch with his friend.

"Ah, here he is," Duncan said standing up.

"Am I late?" Richie asked in confusion, checking his watch.

"No, I was early," Duncan's friend answered getting up as well. "I'm Caitlin," she introduced herself, offering her hand. Richie smiled broadly and took it.

"I'm Richie, nice to meet you."

"So, Richie, Duncan tells me yesterday was your birthday," Caitlin said conversationally over salads. "How old are you?"

Richie chewed on a tomato. "Twenty," he said after swallowing.

"Oh," she smiled. "Young one."

"Not as young as I used to be." He smirked happily at her laugh.

Duncan rolled his eyes and sipped his wine. He should have known something like this was going to happen. Caitlin wasn't his type, but she was Richie's: long hair, big eyes and breathing.

"Where were you born?" Caitlin continued her questioning.

"Lived here my whole life save a few months… when I lived in Paris."

Caitlin smiled at Richie's cocky tone. "France, I assume?"

"Yeah. I had a barge."

Duncan choked on an onion. "_You_ had a barge?"

"I… lived on one," Richie tried to save face. He had forgotten Duncan was there. His usual line wouldn't work.

"On mine," Duncan told Caitlin. "Richie had the room under the wheelhouse."

Before Richie could answer, the waiter came by to collect the salad plates and told them their meals would be out shortly. Caitlin took the opportunity to excuse herself to the restroom. As she walked away from the table, she took her cell phone from her purse and started dialing.

"Thanks a lot, Mac!" Richie hissed trying to look casual in case Caitlin looked back. "I had something going here!"

"Richie, don't get all excited. She's just being nice."

"She's being more than nice."

Duncan laughed. "I promise you, she's not interested."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've known her for two hundred years. You're not her type."

"Says you."

"Richie," Duncan said in a low tone. "I brought you along because she could be a valuable contact in the future, not so you could get in a few kicks."

"Mac, chill."

"Richie, I'm serious. Caitlin is a good friend of mine; keep your pants on."

"Chill," Richie repeated with a smirk.

Duncan glanced across the room as Caitlin headed back from the restrooms. "I'm serious, behave."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad."

"Sorry about that," Caitlin sat back down.

"Not a problem," Richie assured her, turning the charm back on.

Duncan scowled at him from across the table as their food was delivered. Richie smiled back.

"Did you like growing up here, Richie?" Caitlin asked as they began to eat their dinners.

"It was alright…" Richie hedged. Duncan rolled his eyes; he was about to play the sympathy card. "I moved around a lot so, you know, it wasn't that stable."

Caitlin frowned. "Your parents moved a lot?"

"I was never really adopted," he admitted, looking at his steak as he cut it. "But, you know, Mac here… he's been great. He gave me a real break and really helped me out."

Duncan sighed. If Richie wanted to make an idiot of himself, he'd let him. He should know better by now; Richie's hormones were impossible to control. Caitlin would let him down easy.

"That must have been hard." She fell for it.

"It wasn't 'Father Knows Best', but don't let the media make you think we all got the snot beat outta us."

Duncan tried not to laugh. "Real poetic, Rich," he mumbled.

"What happened to your parents, if you don't mind me asking..." She leaned in a bit, concentrating on Richie's face.

"Well, I'm immortal," he shrugged. "I don't really have any."

"Surely there's someone you considered your parents… who are you named after?"

Duncan frowned and looked at Caitlin. He didn't know her to be this pushy usually. Something was up.

"My first foster parents," Richie answered, the attention blinding him to the odd line of questioning. "But I wasn't with them for that long."

She sat back and looked a bit confused. "You weren't?"

"Nope."

"Oh…"

Everyone ate during a lengthy lull in the conversation. "So… what about you?" Richie asked, eating his baked potato. "What's your story?"

"Well," Caitlin put her fork down. "I was found by an immortal. He took me in and raised me, then when I died he taught me."

"Sounds like a good guy," Richie said.

"He is," she smiled warmly. "He's been taking in young pre-immortals and training them for a very long time… centuries."

"So he's still around?"

"Yes."

"Cool," Richie answered for lack of a better response.

"Maybe you could meet him sometime," Caitlin offered. "He'd make a good contact, too. If, of course, you don't mind?" she asked Duncan.

"If he taught you, he must be a good guy," Duncan said. "Though, I'd like to meet him first, you understand."

"Of course," she agreed. "You can never be too careful about who you introduce your students to. Especially when they're this young. He's just a baby, really."

Duncan couldn't help but smile as Richie frowned into his au jus at the last comment. He had it coming; he got fair warning.

"You know," Duncan commented. "I don't think I've ever heard you mention this guy before."

"I haven't? Well, he's a great guy. You should both meet him." She picked up her wine. "I think you'd all get along well." She took a sip. "Maybe I could pass along your phone number?"

"I don't see why not," he agreed. "I wouldn't mind getting to talk to him."

"I'll be seeing him in a few days," she smiled broadly. "I'll give him your name and number then. Be expecting a call from Jack."

Duncan looked unhappily at the red ink in the account book. He'd have to get Richie to take a look at it; the young man was better than he was at cutting corners and stretching money. When he first bought the dojo, he and Charlie had been quite surprised by how quickly Richie had put the place back in the black. Too bad he had told Richie to take the day off. Looked like the books were going to have to wait… or maybe not… Duncan looked up expectantly at the doors of the dojo, only it wasn't Richie. A tall, well built, middle aged, man came in and walked straight to him.

"Duncan MacLeod?"

"Yes." Duncan let him in the office and closed the door.

"I'm not here for a challenge," the man assured him, noticing the katana close at hand. "I'd just like to talk. Caitlin told me you'd be expecting me."

Duncan paused. Caitlin had left over a week ago. "John?"

"Jack."

"Jack. Right. Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to come so soon…" he floundered. He hadn't expected him to come at all.

"I suppose I should have called first. I was just so happy about Mackie."

"Mackie?"

"Oh, he goes by Richie now, doesn't he?"

Duncan frowned. "You hurried out here to meet Richie?"

Jack sighed. "I should have known Caitlin wouldn't explain it all. She's like that, you know."

Duncan nodded. "You were saying about Richie?" he prompted.

"Well," Jack started. "You mind if I have a seat?"

"Go ahead."

"I wanted to speak to you before I went to Mac… Richie. I understand you are his teacher. And I thought it appropriate to go through the proper channels considering the circumstances."

"Under what circumstances?" Duncan asked, starting to get frustrated.

"My name is Jack Ryan, I'm… Richie's father."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, Charlie," Duncan greeted as he came in from his morning jog. "Where's Richie?"

"Up stairs, sleeping. Said to call him if he's not down in a couple hours," he answered with a familiar tone. His 'the kid is getting on my nerves' tone.

"What'd he do this time?" Duncan asked.

"Nothing, that's the problem. I'm up to my neck in work around here and he just breezes in and takes a two hour nap. I know this is your place now and all, but if you're gonna pay the kid you should make him do some work."

Duncan didn't look up as he thumbed through the morning mail. "He's your assistant, if you have a problem with him, you talk to him."

"MacLeod, the kid doesn't listen to me."

"Because you let him." He picked up the phone and hit the speed dial to the upstairs line. "It's just me, don't go back to sleep, I want to talk to you." He hung up. "All you have to do is not let him get away with it."

Charlie followed him to the lift. "And how do you propose I do that with you letting him not show up half the time and letting him goof off while he_ is_ here? It's like the only thing your concerned about is making sure he _learns to fence_. A work ethic would do him a lot more good when he doesn't have you around!" he called as Duncan ignored him and rode the lift to the top floor.

Richie was laying on the couch half asleep when the lift stopped. "Hey," he yawned and stretched.

"You made Charlie mad."

"Eh," he shrugged it off. "I'll deal with him later." He rolled onto his side and snuggled into the throw pillows.

"How'd your race go?"

Richie made a face, but kept his eyes closed. "Horrible. If I ever want to compete again I'm going to have to change my name."

"That bad?"

"I didn't place. I didn't even qualify for a second run. I just packed up and came home."

"That bad?" Duncan got some juice from the refrigerator.

"That bad."

"I need to talk to you," he walked over to the couch and slapped Richie's leg.

"I'll talk to Charlie later, promise."

"Not about that."

"Can't it wait? I'm tired."

"It's important, Rich."

"It can't wait just a couple hours?" he whined.

"If you're so tired, why didn't you go home?"

"Cause here was closer and I didn't think I could make it."

Duncan sighed. "Alright. I'll give you a few hours. But we really need to talk, okay?"

"Mmmm."

Duncan left Richie to sleep. Truth be told, he was glad to put off the conversation. He'd had Joe check out Jack's story and either the guy was telling the truth or he was very committed to the lie. He seemed genuine enough and Caitlin trusted him and Duncan trusted Caitlin. He just wasn't so sure how Richie would react to the news. He had told Jack he'd pass along the message, but couldn't guarantee Richie would accept.

Duncan wasn't sure he wanted Richie to accept. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Richie spending time with a strange Immortal. It was one thing to let Richie go off with an immortal he knew personally, one he had known for centuries, one he introduced him to. But everything he knew about this Jack guy was second hand knowledge. His chronicles made him out to be a good guy, but how accurate were those things, anyway?

He had half a mind not to tell Richie anything about the meeting the day before. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him… unless Jack decided to circumnavigate Duncan and go straight to Richie to find out why he didn't show. And was it really his place to tell Richie who he could and couldn't see? Jack seemed to think so. He seemed pretty earnest about getting Duncan's approval before speaking to Richie. But Richie wouldn't see it that way. If he didn't say anything he'd have an angry Richie on his hands.

He sure hadn't seen a situation like this arising when he decided to take in that street kid two years ago. Of course, he hadn't seen that original Jack situation happening, either. Richie had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the imposter's stories. He had been so desperate for a father figure he never questioned a thing until he had no other choice. Would he even be willing to try again? Did his first encounter with an alleged Jack Ryan take too much from him to want to take a second chance at it? Did he even feel he needed that in his life anymore? Did he even want a father?

Of course he wanted a father. Every boy needs a father. Who was he to take that away from Richie? He promised he'd always do what was in Richie's best interest. It was his job to take care of him and help him make the best of every situation he was presented with. And besides, Richie wasn't really a boy anymore. He was a man. A young man, but a man. He was old enough to decide if he wanted to give Jack a second chance at being part of his life. All Duncan could do was give him the chance and support his decision.

That was what he had to do. Support him. If Richie wanted to meet with Jack, he'd be okay with it. Worried, but okay. If Richie didn't want to meet with Jack, he'd be okay with that, too. It was Richie's life, Richie's decision.

Duncan reached his resolve. He would tell Richie the whole story when he woke up. After that he'd send him home and come up with an explanation to give Charlie about why he was letting Richie go. Richie was going to need some time to sort through everything. He didn't need to worry about washing towels and sanitizing gym equipment. Duncan could take care of all that for him until whatever was going to happen, happened. He may have to deal with an angry Charlie, but at least Charlie still had a bit of respect for Duncan's decisions. An angry Charlie would be much easier to deal with than an angry Richie who had no problem following Duncan around and pushing an issue. Charlie would back off long before Richie would.

* * *

Duncan looked up from his book as the lift came up. There was no immortal buzz. That meant it was either Joe or Charlie. And with Richie snoring away on the couch, it was probably Charlie in search of his alleged assistant.

"Let him sleep," Duncan said as Charlie lifted the gate.

"It's been four hours."

"He's tired."

"Let me see if I can get this straight, man," Charlie started. "You buy the place."

"Okay…"

"Then you want me to stay and run it."

"Right."

"Then you hire this kid to do the dirty grunt work."

"I guess you could put it like that."

"So when's he gonna start?"

Duncan couldn't help but chuckle. "He's just a kid. I'm letting him be a kid."

"You can't baby him forever, MacLeod."

"Then I better get some good swaddling in before he grows up."

"Sometimes I just don't get you, MacLeod."

"That makes two of you," he indicated Richie. "I'm about to order lunch from the deli. You want anything?"

"You changing the subject?"

"Charlie, you can chew him out about being lazy all you want, just later. I need to talk to him first."

"You two have been up here for hours."

"And he's been asleep the whole time."

"You can wake him up."

"I could." Duncan smiled and looked through the menu drawer for the deli down the street. "Or I could let him sleep."

Charlie put his hands up in surrender. "Whatever. You're the boss."

"So you eating or what?"

"I'm fine. Just do whatever it is you're planning on doing then send Richie down and maybe he can put in a few hours for a change." Charlie headed for the lift again.

"I don't think Richie's going to be working today," Duncan said. Now was as good a time as ever.

Charlie sighed, defeated. "Now what?"

"It's complicated, but Richie may be in and out for a while."

Shaking his head, Charlie lowered the gate and put the lift in motion mumbling: "I give up. I just give up. There's no figuring these people out…"

Duncan took a stab in the dark at what Richie would want for lunch and ordered. As soon as the food arrived, the young immortal cracked open a hopeful eye.

"For you." Duncan pushed a Styrofoam container across the bar. "Want something to drink?"

"Got any sodas?"

"You drank the last one the other day."

"Water's fine, then." Richie mumbled sleepily, stretching.

"I got you a potato," Duncan told him as he drug his feet over to the empty barstool.

"Works for me." He slid into his seat and puzzled at the container for a moment.

"Need help?"

"No," he mumbled, embarrassed, turning it around. "I'm just still tired."

"How much sleep have you had?"

"How long was I out?"

"I meant before."

"Not."

"What?"

Richie looked up. "Huh?"

"Not?" Duncan quoted.

"What?"

"What did you mean, not?"

"When?"

"You just said it."

"Not?"

"Yes."

"I'm lost…" Richie looked in the dollop of sour cream on his potato for answers. "What are we talking about?"

Duncan chuckled and shook his head. "Never mind. Just eat."

With a shrug, Richie started to mix all the toppings together, making mashed potatoes in a potato skin bowl. Duncan ate his salad and sat next to Richie, trying to decide how he was going to tell him about Jack. Richie being half asleep could prove to make the conversation entertaining. Maybe he should wait until after Richie had a full belly and therefore the ability to pay attention to have such a serious conversation. So, he let Richie eat and handed over what was leftover of his lunch when he was done. Then pushed the fruit bowl within reach.

Sometimes Richie could take forever to finish a meal.


	4. Chapter 4

Richie picked at the seeds in his apple.

"Say something, Rich." Duncan put his hand on Richie's forearm.

"And it was really him?" he asked softly.

Duncan nodded. "He checked out."

"What does he want?"

"I don't know; he didn't tell me."

Richie took a deep breath and switched his blank gaze from his apple to the window. "You told him I would come?"

"I told him I would tell you. Whether you go or not is up to you."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I don't know, Rich. This is one thing I've never gone through before."

No one spoke for a time; Duncan wasn't sure what to say, Richie didn't know what to think.

"I don't know what to do, Mac," he finally admitted. "I want to go, but…" he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "What if it's, like, another set up or something?"

"Then don't go."

"What if it's all legit?"

"Then you should go."

"I don't know… I, mean, it's… this isn't easy to figure out…"

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Duncan prompted. "Just go home and think this all through."

"Okay," Richie agreed distractedly.

"Take this." Duncan handed Richie his cell phone. "Just in case you need it." Richie took it and got up off the stool. "And whatever you decide, meet me at Joe's tonight at ten, alright? Just so I know you're okay."

"Alright." Richie shrugged on his coat and picked up his duffle.

"Tonight at ten," Duncan told him as he walked out the back door.

"Tonight at ten," Richie agreed.

* * *

Richie sat inside the café, his sword tucked inside his jacket and Duncan's cell phone weighting down the inside pocket. His still wasn't quite sure what he thought about meeting another Jack Ryan. Even though Duncan had Joe check the guy's claim and he passed without with flying colors, part of him didn't want to believe it. He wanted answers for all the questions he'd had for so long, but he was worried about what those answers might be. Life may be easier if he let sleeping dogs lie.

It wasn't as if he needed any extra drama. Immortality was drama enough. He had a teacher. He had friends. He didn't need a father. He was too old. What did this Jack guy have to offer? Salt for old wounds? A twist of the knife? Richie had just learned to work around the knife the way it was. He was quite comfortable with the knife just where it was. The last thing he needed was whatever this guy had to offer.

He passed his resolve. He'd tell Jack thanks, but no thanks. He was fine with everything the way it was.

A buzz washed over him and his spine stiffened. His eyes traveled from one end of the glass front of the café to the other, landing on a man appearing to be just older than Duncan with light brown, neatly combed hair, in jeans and a blazer, looking through the glass, searching for him. Their eyes met and Richie looked down, playing with the lemon in his tea. A minute later the man was standing over him. His father.

"Richie?"

He didn't look up, just nodded. After a faltering pause, Jack sat down across the table. Under some odd, childish, impulse, Richie continued to play with his drink.

"Mackie," Jack said softly.

Richie's head snapped up. "Strike one. It's Richie."

Jack smiled apologetically. "I know that. I'm just not used to calling you that."

"Wouldn't figure you'd be used to calling me anything."

Jack didn't respond right away. "You'd be surprised."

Richie quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

* * *

Duncan checked his watch again.

"Why so tense, Mac?" Joe asked, refilling his mug. "Richie didn't get challenged, did he?"

"No, he may be meeting with Jack and he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"So in Richie-time, he's still got fifteen minutes to get here," he tried to lighten the mood.

"What if something happened to him? We don't know this Jack guy. Richie could be hurt. Or dead."

"What if Jack really is a good guy and Richie just lost track of time?"

Duncan checked his watch again. Twenty minutes late. "That's it; I'm calling him. Can I use your office?"

"Sure, it's all yours."

Duncan went into the office behind the bar and dialed his cell phone. After a couple rings, the line picked up.

"My watch died?"

"Where are you?"

"Turn around."

Duncan looked out the open office door. Richie was at the foot of the back stair case. "You're late."

"Are you seriously going to yell at me on the phone when we're in the same room?"

"Get back here. Now." Duncan hung up and waited for Richie to make his way across the bar, arms folded over his chest.

"Sorry," Richie shrugged when he was in ear shot. "Lost track of time."

"I told him," Joe smiled, handing Richie a beer.

"He mad?"

Joe shrugged and stepped aside letting him into the office.

"Richie…" Duncan started, closing the door.

"I'm sorry, Mac," Richie apologized again. "It was an accident. I just got caught up, that's all."

"You should have called."

"I had your phone. Where was I gonna call?"

"You knew I was here."

"I'm sorry, alright?"

"Richie, do you have any idea what it was like wandering where you were? All I knew is you may or may not have been off with some strange immortal who had God knows what agenda."

"Mac, he's a great guy."

"I didn't know that," Duncan told him. "How am I supposed to know? For all I knew you were headless in some dark alley!"

"I was just having dinner…."

"Next time let me know where you are."

"Mac, I'm not seventeen anymore. I don't have to call home every twenty minutes."

"You do in some situations."

Richie sighed. There was no reasoning with Duncan when he was in full on mommy-mode. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Okay."

"Well, okay then."

"Okay."

"Are we done?" Richie asked.

"Not yet."

"Now what?"

Duncan sat down on the couch. "How was it?"

"It was okay."

"He a decent guy?"

"Yeah. He's pretty cool, really. I liked him." Richie leaned against the desk, facing Duncan.

"So you got on?"

"Yeah. We're gonna meet to have breakfast tomorrow at his hotel."

Duncan smiled faintly. "Good. Glad to hear it. I didn't want you to have to go through it all again."

"Yeah, me too."

"Is he staying in town long?"

Richie downed the last of his beer. "Naw. He has to get back to his ranch. He owns a ranch somewhere…forget where. But he's gonna come back when he can and stay longer so we can get to know each other again."

Duncan nodded a bit, unsure what to do now. "Well, let me buy you a drink," he said, standing up.

Richie held up his beer. "Joe already got me one."

"Then finish it and let my buy you another."

He smiled and swigged down the remainder of his drink. "If you insist."

Duncan laughed and put an arm around Richie's shoulders. "If I get you drunk enough you may give me the details of your meeting."

This time Richie laughed. "Anything that gets me free booze."


	5. Chapter 5

Richie and Jack sat in silence as they waited for their meals to arrive the next morning.

"I'm sorry I have to leave so soon," Jack admitted. "I'll be back in a few weeks, though. I just have to make arrangements to be gone so long."

"It's alright," Richie cracked a smile. "I'm used to it. And at least you're coming back this time."

Jack's face fell. "Mackie…"

"I didn't mean it like that," he assured him. "I say stupid things sometimes… I think I'm funnier than I really am."

"You always have. You mother thought you were destined to be a comedian."

Richie paused. It had never occurred to him before now. "What was Emily like? I don't remember her."

"What do you mean you don't remember her?"

"I was just so young when it all happened, I don't remember much of anything before then."

"Mackie, you're twenty. You couldn't have been that old when you…died," he whispered the last word.

Frowning, Richie tried to make out what Jack meant. "You think… that I've lived with Emily this whole time?"

"Caitlin said that you grew up in foster care."

"I did. But not with her. Jack, she died, years ago. I wasn't even five."

"Mackie… I am so sorry. If I had known, it would have never been like this," Jack apologized, a bit in shock. "I didn't think she'd let you see me, that's why I waited until you were older. I should have kept a better watch. I'm sorry, Mackie."

"Not your fault."

"I wish you could have known her. She adored you. You worshiped her. When we first brought you home you didn't want anything to do with anyone but her." Jack teared up a little. "She had to carry you around twenty four hours a day. You would only take your bottle from her. You slept in our bed, right against her chest. She loved every second of it."

"But what was she like?" Richie asked again. "What did she look like? What was her job? What shows did she watch?"

"She was beautiful." Jack smiled wistfully. "She had black hair, long; you used to play with it. You loved to brush her hair. And she had dark brown eyes… a nose that was too big for her face, but fit perfectly."

"What did she do?"

"She worked at a bakery. Her friend owned it. She used to take you to work with her. There was a playpen near the cooling racks and once you got big enough, you got to taste a few treats every now and then. Do you remember wanting to be a baker?" Richie shook his head. "Your favorite toy in the world was a big plastic bowl and a wooden mixing spoon. When you were three, I helped you make a play kitchen out of old cardboard boxes your room. And when you started sneaking real pots and pans from the kitchen, your mom didn't have the heart to take them back. We had two of practically everything." Jack chuckled.

"I wish I could remember," Richie said as the conversation paused when the waiter arrived with their breakfasts.

"You were pretty little back then."

"What else?" he asked.

"What else do you want to know?"

Richie thought a moment. "What was I like?"

"As a baby?"

"Yeah."

"You don't know?"

He shrugged. "No one's been able to tell me before now."

"You were a ham," Jack smiled at the memory. "A charmer, an attention moocher, a mama's boy… Did you know there was a gifted preschool that wanted you to attend?"

Richie smirked. "Yeah, right."

"No. They were even ready to offer a partial scholarship for you."

"Me. At a gifted school? No way in hell."

"Do you not know how smart you are?"

"Jack, I barely got my ass outta high school taking normal, plain ol' dumb kid classes."

Jack smiled knowingly. "Mackie, you're smarter than you think you are. I promise you that. I also promise this food will get cold if we don't eat."

"One more question."

"Sure."

"Why do you keep calling me Mackie?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charlie looked up skeptically as Richie waltzed into the office from the basement.

"I don't suppose you're actually working today?" he asked dryly.

"Just waiting for the last load to dry." Richie sat down across from him and put his feet up on the desk.

"I should call channel five."

"Already did."

"So if I told you to update the membership files you'd actually do it… today?"

"Yeah…"

"And mop up the locker room?"

"Sure."

Charlie paused. "Good. Cause that's what you were supposed to have been doing this whole time."

With a sigh, Richie settled in for what he thought was going to become a long, MacLeod-style, lecture.

"Do it again, I'll kick your ass, man. I'm sick of paying you to do nothing," was all Charlie said before going back to his work.

Richie started to get up to leave, but paused when he felt an immortal presence. It was Duncan, as he assumed, but as everyone kept forcing down his throat, "never get too comfortable in assumption." Duncan caught his eye, and waved a package at him to keep him from leaving.

"I assume this is for you," he said when he entered the office.

The package was addressed to Mackenzie Ryan at DeSalvo's Gym. Though there was no return address, Richie knew who it was from.

"Jack must have sent it," he explained, ripping the tape off the box.

"Mackenzie?" Duncan asked.

"That's my middle name," Richie explained rooting through the tissue paper in the box. "Apparently I went by that when I was little." He found a leather bound book. "It just never got put on my birth…" he trailed off.

Curious, Duncan peered over his shoulder. "Is that you?" he asked looking at the swaddled baby on the first page of the album. 'Richard Mackenzie Ryan September 20, 1974' was written in foil script across the page.

"I guess so. I've never seen a baby picture before."

"You had an abnormally large head," Duncan observed. "Sort of funny shaped, too."

"Gee… thanks, Mac."

"I thought all babies were supposed to be cute?" he continued.

"Richie always seems to be the exception to the rule," Charlie commented from behind the computer.

"You know I don't have to sit here and take this," Richie threatened idly as he stared down at his infant self.

"You're right. You have to take the towels out of the dryer and the mop up to the locker room," Charlie agreed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two hours later, Duncan found Richie hiding out in the basement folding towels as he looked through the photo album.

"And here Charlie thought you were actually going to do some work today?" Duncan took up a towel to fold as well.

"Sorry."

"Is that Emily?" Duncan asked, peering at the photo the book was open to. A young woman held baby Richie by the hands as he struggled to walk to the camera.

"I don't know who that is… but look at this." Richie flipped the pages back until he came across a picture of Caitlin bottle feeding him. "Nice hair, huh?" Duncan chucked. "But this…" Richie said with great adoration turning the pages again. "Is Emily."

"How do you know it's her? You've always said you can't remember."

Richie shrugged with a half smile. "I just knew," he explained softly. "I turned the page and I knew. And don't go telling me how big her nose is," he added.

"I was going to say she was very lovely."

"Yeah." Richie looked back at the photo. "She was, wasn't she?"

They both stared at the photo awhile before Duncan snapped back. "Charlie's going to get mad if you don't get your work done today."

"Yeah, he threatened to kick my ass if I didn't."

"He can, you know."

"I know," Richie assured him. "My ass and I are both quite aware of the fact." He tried, yet again, to concentrate on the menial task before him.

"So, Mackenzie, eh?" Duncan asked, taking up the photo album.

"That's the name."

"So, if they wanted to call you Mackie, why bother with Richard?" He flipped pages as he made conversation. "Nice tush, by the way."

"It's just how Jack names his kids. See," Richie put the folded towel in the basket with the others. "He thinks it's good luck to name you after a immortal that has survived a long time. But, so he doesn't have a million kids running around with the same name, you get your middle name, which is yours. And then when someone is named after you it's your middle name."

"So, you're named after this Richard guy, but when someone is named after you, they'll be named Mackenzie, but go by their middle name…"

"If I live long enough."

"And they never had time to put it on your birth certificate?"

"When they first found me… Jack did, by the way. On the beach… but, uh, anyway, they were pressed to come up with a name for me. And Richard had just been by recently, so they named me after him. Then they were going to put my real name on the certificate after they adopted me, but they never got the chance, so no one knew but them."

Duncan took in the explanation. It seemed reasonable enough, complicated, but reasonable. Hell, he hadn't been named until he was nearly three. That left one question to be asked.

"What happened? Why did Jack have to leave?"

"I don't know," Richie admitted miserably. "I haven't had the guts to ask him yet. It's so weird. Like, when I was a kid, when they other guy showed up, what's-his-name, I could ask him anything. I did, I had to know. But, now that I know this really is him. This is Jack. The closest thing I have to a father. The only connection I have to my childhood… I'm scared to ask."

"If you ever want to know," Duncan reached out and put a hand on Richie's shoulder. "You're going to have to."


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks later, Jack was back in town, having reserved a suite in a hotel not far from the dojo. Richie came into work much earlier than usual and hurried through a list of jobs Charlie gave him wanting to be done by the time Jack arrived that afternoon.

"You ought to have family in town more often," Charlie commented as Richie filed away the last of the membership receipts.

"Don't get used to it," Richie waned him in good humor. "I'm pretty sure it's just a phase."

"I'm pretty sure it'll hurt when my fist goes up your nose."

"I'm pretty sure I'll be gone by then."

Duncan came in effectively ending the verbal posturing. "Hey, Rich. When's Jack coming in?"

"His flight lands in a few hours. I'm gonna meet him at three at the airport."

"If you're done," Charlie added in.

"At three."

"If you're done," Duncan agreed.

Knowing that was to be the final word, Richie sighed and took up a rag and bottle of window cleaner.

"One of these days we gotta hire someone younger than me," he grumbled as he left the office.

"To do your job," Charlie shot after him.

* * *

Richie waved cheekily at Charlie as he left that afternoon at 2:15, his work for the day done. He rode his bike back to his apartment and showered. He thought about what Jack had asked him a few days before. He couldn't decide, hopefully Jack wouldn't expect an answer straight away. Still pondering, he arrived at the gate as the plane was unloading passengers. He glanced at his watch deciding the plane was early and, for once, he wasn't late. He felt Jack's presence before he saw him. He felt Jack's hand around his arm before he could say anything.

"Keep up," Jack ordered quietly, pulling Richie down the terminal.

"What's going on?" Richie demanded.

"Kurtz."

"Who?"

"Keep moving."

Closed mouthed, Richie kept up with Jack, swallowing a yelp as Jack suddenly turned, yanking him out an employee exit. Their paced slowed to a more manageable walk. Jack's jaw was set and clenched, and his grip on Richie's arm vice-like as they navigated the airport underground.

"Well?" Richie demanded as they emerged in a parking lot.

"We need a taxi."

"I thought you had a rental?"

"Too much paper, not enough time."

"What's going on?"

"Later."

"Jack!" Richie was exasperated and confused. He deserved at least some explanation.

The feeling of another immortal tingled his senses and instinctively both looked for the source. A large, pillar of a man stepped out of the shadows. Neither Richie nor Jack were armed. Jack's sword was in his unclaimed checked luggage, Richie's tucked into the sheath on his bike.

"Ryan…" The man spoke in a low, gravely, voice.

"Kurtz." Jack pushed Richie to the wall: a silent command. 'Stay put.'

"The latest in a long line," Kurtz nodded to Richie, advancing as he spoke. "Either you have a brother in town or you are little Mackenzie. So young. Easy prey to anyone with revenge on their mind." He stopped, his sword pointed squarely at Richie's chest. "You were a cute baby."

Jack stepped between them, Kurtz's blade threatening to puncture his rib cage.

"Home." Jack pulled Richie from the wall behind him.

"Mac." Richie answered quietly, trying to steer the word away from Kurtz's ears. Jack nodded his understanding and Richie jogged quietly away, the sounds of traffic his map.

* * *

"No Jack?" Duncan asked as Richie appeared in the loft.

"You ever heard of a guy called Kurtz?"

"No, who is it?"

"I don't know. But he knows Jack and me."

"Where is Jack now?"

"The employee garage at the airport."

"You mean you actually left when you were told?"

"Mac!"

"Richie, relax. Jack's older than I am; I'm sure he'll be fine."

"He didn't even have his sword." Duncan didn't answer. "I'm calling Joe."

"Hold it." Duncan stopped Richie mid-dial. "If you don't hear from him in half an hour, then call." He forced Richie's hand to hang up the receiver. "You don't panic like this when I'm gone do you?" he asked with a smile.

"Occasionally…"

"I didn't figure you for the panic type," he teased.

Richie shrugged and moved for the refrigerator.

"There's no beer," Duncan warned him. "Wine?"

"Sure."

Duncan poured two glasses, measuring a bit extra for Richie. Richie watched the clock, his foot kicking the stool in a fast rhythm. Duncan waited next to him in the tense quiet, not sure how to offer to comfort him.

It wasn't that he was glad Jack was in a bit of trouble, but his wasn't horribly worried about it either. It wasn't pleasant to hear that someone died, but with no attachment it was hard to feel bad; other than not wanting his friend to be hurting. And in brutal honesty things were easier when Jack was gone. Duncan wasn't too fond of being out of control. Jack came barging in, changing Richie's name, past, future, effecting his relationships…not that Duncan would admit it, even to himself… jealousy was not well suited for the Scot.

After awhile Richie relaxed, whether it was the alcohol or the subsiding adrenaline surge was unclear. He was still worried, but no longer frantic.

"You alright?" Duncan asked, sick of the silence.

"Yeah." Richie sighed, got up and went for the couch. "Sorry 'bout all that."

"I'd be more concerned if you weren't worried." He didn't follow Richie, just turned his stool to face him. "It's all part of being immortal and having relationships."

"Is everything a grand life lesson to you?"

"Most things truly are."

"It's really annoying."

"I'm not here to entertain you."

Richie closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Learned that lesson a long time ago."

"Charlie is still mad at you," Duncan changed the subject.

"Per usual."

"He's mad at me, too. Because I let you get out of work."

"Jealous."

The phone rang before Duncan could answer. Richie watched, stiff and tense as Duncan spoke calmly to the person on the other line. "He's here," Duncan mouthed as he learned the purpose of the call.

Richie relaxed into the cushions for a moment, but sprang to his feet when Duncan gestured him to let Jack into the loft. While he was gone, Duncan poured a few fingers of scotch for everyone, a bit extra for Jack. The drinks were ready by the time Richie opened the lift gate and Jack stepped into the loft. Duncan saluted him with the glass, then handed it to him.

"You okay?" Richie was the first to speak. "You took care of him?"

Jack shook his head. "Where's the nearest safe place you can go?"

"Is he after me?"

"He may be."

"Is Richie in danger?" Duncan asked, sitting in the chair across from Richie and Jack on the couch.

"Kurtz has threatened him."

"The island," Duncan said simply, leaning back. "We'll leave tomorrow."

Richie groaned and put his feet up on the coffee table. "I hate the island."

"Will he be safe there?" Jack asked.

"It's holy ground," Duncan answered.

"It's hell," Richie corrected.

"Fine, Rich," Duncan smirked at him. "If you want to sacrifice your head for comfort, go for it."

"You mean it's actually my choice?"

"Of course not; you're going."

"I had a feeling my opinion didn't matter."

"Usually doesn't."

"Mackenzie." Richie quickly switched his attention to Jack at the use of his new full name. "We're just trying to protect you. You won't be safe on your own."

"You're not old eno…you're not ready," Duncan agreed. "You still have a lot left to learn."

"That's not my fault," Richie said pointedly. "If you'd just…"

"We'll take care of it."

"I just don't understand why you're always throwing that in my face when you won't even…"

"Richie, you choose now to get into this?" Duncan interrupted again. "Let's handle one situation at a time. You can't stay at your apartment tonight."

"He can stay with me, if that's alright," Jack said.

"I don't need a babysitter. I'll be okay for one night."

"Richie, I don't like you staying there on a good night. That neighborhood's not safe."

"Mac, I—"

"We're not getting into this. You can stay with m—with Jack."

Richie sat back and tried to keep himself from visibly pouting as Duncan and Jack made plans. They would leave at 6:30 for the island and stay until they could decide what to do about Kurtz. But first, Jack would take Richie back to his place to pack and then to the hotel. They'd meet up with Duncan at the hotel in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

Richie sat awkwardly on the couch in Jack's hotel room, still mad about having to be there, even though he had planned to spend time there. It was the fact that suddenly he had no choice that bothered him. So some immortal was after him. What else was new? He was always someone's target. Even before he was immortal, they were after him; he was used to it. He accepted it as a fact of life. He was short and immortals were after him. Nothing could be done about any of it.

Jack sat not too far from him on the easy chair. Neither spoke. Jack was plotting and Richie was pouting. Sure, Duncan got a little over protective at times, but he rarely jumped straight to holy ground. Jack and Duncan were feeding off each other's paranoia. It was going to be one miserable, indefinite stay at the island. One mother hen was bad enough two was going to be insufferable.

"So, what's this cabin like?" Jack asked.

Richie shrugged having already reverted to moody-teenager-mode. "There's a couple beds, walls, a roof, wood stove… all the modern convenience of Little House on the Prairie."

"I'll take it you're not a nature lover."

"Not in the slightest. As far as I can tell, no one lives like that anymore for a reason.

Jack couldn't help but smile. "You sound like your mother."

"She must have been a very smart woman."

"She was."

Richie tried to stay angry, but Jack seemed to have homed in on his biggest weakness – his curiosity.

"She didn't like camping?" he asked.

"Anything greener than the playground and she broke into hives," Jack smiled again. "She'd lived in cities for so long, she swore she was allergic to clean air."

This time Richie smiled; he had tried the exact same excuse on Duncan a few times himself. "How'd you two meet?"

Jack settled back in his chair, satisfied Richie wasn't angry any more, and Richie sat forward in anticipation.

"Emily was a huge Seacouver Sharks fan… you like basketball?" Richie nodded, thinking of the Sharks sweatshirt he had packed. "She won a radio contest and got a pair of seats to a play off game. As the sports writer for the paper, I had pretty decent seats, myself…"

Duncan was surprised to see Richie in such a good mood the next morning. Usually it took Richie a couple hours to be in a forgiving mood after being forced awake before dawn to embark on a nature journey. But this morning, he was in high spirits, bordering on bubbly as he told Duncan all he had learned the night before. How Emily and Jack had met at a Sharks playoff game. And even how Jack had found him outside the stadium after leaving a press conference.

"I guess now we know why you like basketball and hotdogs so much," Duncan teased. "He was the star of his high school team," he told Jack. "Even holds a couple district records."

"You didn't tell me that. What in?" Jack asked.

"Most games started, most points scored in a single game and highest free throw average," Duncan answered before Richie could.

"What was your average?"

This time Richie got to answer with a cocky grin. "I never miss."

The rest of the car trip, they all talked amiably about various topics, but the mood quickly changed when they made it to the canoe. Richie hung back, refusing to work citing that it was "too dangerous" for him to load the canoe and he was "too young and inexperienced" to paddle across the lake. Duncan sighed, knowing Richie's good humor had to have been too good to be true that morning. Getting him to do anything was going to be near impossible. But at least the young man would be able to get some space to himself with the safety of holy ground. Richie might even be willing to chop some wood to vent his frustrations. Hoping to tire out his bad mood, Duncan set Richie to work with some manual labor as soon as they landed. Duncan and Jack unloaded the canoe while Richie set out for wood.

By the time lunch rolled around, the cabin was set up and ready for occupants and Richie, sweaty and dirt smeared, had chopped enough logs to last them several weeks.

"Want to wash up?" Duncan offered him a towel. Richie panted and took it, skipping the cabin entirely and going straight for the lake to cool off.

"Moody isn't he?" Jack asked.

"That's Richie," Duncan shrugged putting a few logs in the stove.

"He always this moody?"

"Usually…well, when he's mad. He'll be fine in a while."

The two putter around the kitchen fixing a lunch of French bread and canned chili. Richie appeared in the kitchen door, wet a shivering a bit, when the chili had begun to boil.

"Better?" Duncan asked, tearing off a chunk of bread and tossing it to him.

"Sure." He stuck the bread in his mouth and mounted the ladder to his little loft above the kitchen to put on something warmer.

Lunch was dished out by the time he had changed and come back down. The three sat around the table quietly scooping meat and beans out of their tin cups and sopping up left over with bread until the cups and pot were sopped clean.

"This place is pretty impressive," Jack commented as Richie set to work pumping water into the sink.

"Thank you," Duncan answered. "I like it here."

"Mac built it," Richie spoke up. "He's always working on it, though why he doesn't get real plumbing is beyond me."

"The pump works fine."

"Nothing I built ever lasted this long. I was never very good at construction."

"I've got to replace things every so often. It wasn't like this when I first built it. Richie and I replaced that whole west wall last summer.

"Are we really going to sit around making small talk?" Richie asked, sitting down and claiming the last of the French bread. "Or are we going to deal with this whole Kurtz situation?"

"We should. That's why we're here." Duncan sat back in his chair. "So what do we do?"

"Kill 'em," Richie stated the obvious.

"Is it that easy?" Duncan asked Jack.

"If it were, he'd been gone long ago. He liked to play games," he explained. "He's been toying with me for centuries. I don't know why he's set his sights on me."

"You had to have done something to piss him off," Richie insisted. "He's not just after you for the fun of it… is he?"

"Some immortals don't need a reason," Duncan explained. "It's the thrill of the chase for them."

"Well, how good is he?' Richie asked Jack. "Is he better than you?"

"I don't know."

"So we call Joe; have him check this guy out."

"Joe?"

"He's a -- ow!!!" Richie rubbed at his suddenly soar shin.

"A friend," Duncan finished. "He has connections."

Richie scowled across the table. "He can find out anything about anyone."

"Good friend to have," Jack commented. "The important thing is that we keep Mackie away from him. He's not the kind of guy you want your son or student around."

"Why?"

"You don't ever want to find out."

"So what do we do? Hide out 'til he gets board?"

"We beat him at his own game," Duncan said. "We track him. He's counting on having control of the chase. If we take it from him, it'll throw him off balance."

"So what are we doing here? Let's go get him!"

"Not we, Richie," he corrected. "Us." He gestured to himself and Jack. "You – "

"Stay here," Richie groaned.

"Bait," Jack corrected. "Kurtz will come after you if we leave you alone here. We can get control if he thinks we've left."

"Just keep him off the island. If he knows Richie is here we can draw him out, but Richie will be safe here."

* * *

Duncan looked up as Richie stepped out on the porch, shot gun in hand and his coat pockets loaded down with what he assumed was buck shot.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Duncan asked, putting his book down.

"Mac, I think I'm a little old to have to ask permission to use my own gun." Richie rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Duncan had given him the gun two years ago for Christmas in hopes of enticing Richie into liking the cabin. But the gift had been given under strict order that he couldn't even touch it without Duncan by his side to keep an eye on him.

"Rich…"

Richie stopped and turned around, annoyance written all over his face. "I'm just gonna do some target practice," he snipped. "I'm twenty years old for Christ's sake! Can I at least get some credibility, here?"

"I was going to say: have fun," Duncan told him. "You're right. You're more than old enough."

Richie paused. "Oh…"

"You alright?"

"I need a little space, that's all."

Duncan nodded. "Just don't get lost."

With an acknowledging wave, Richie disappeared into the woods. Jack stepped out onto the porch a few seconds later.

"You think he's alright?" he asked.

Duncan kept his eyes on the edge of the woods. "He's fine. He sees our anxiety of Kurtz as not trusting him. He's only twenty; he still thinks he's the center of the world."

"I meant alone in the woods with a gun."

"He knows what he's doing. He'll be fine. Besides, he's immortal, he can't hurt himself with a gun in anyway that won't heal by the time he makes it back here."

By that time Richie had made it to wherever was he wanted to practice shooting and a loud bang echoed in the cool fall air. The few birds that didn't leave for the winter jumped from their trees and scattered in all directions. A few seconds later another bang sounded.

"So you got him a gun?" Jack asked conversationally leaning on the porch railing.

"A few years ago. He's a pretty good shot, too. Took down a four point buck his first time on a serious hunting trip."

"Not bad."

"So, how bad is this Kurtz guy, really?" Duncan asked, looking at Jack for the first time.

"If he wanted to kill me, he would have. He's had plenty of chances. Like I said, he's been after me for centuries."

"If he's so dangerous, why did you show up? You put Richie in the line of fire."

"He already was," Jack admitted. "Kurtz is going to go after him if I'm here or not. I figured Mackenzie deserved to know why. And this way I have a chance to protect him."

"How much protection does he need?"

"Kurtz has been going after my students to get to me. He's already killed three."

"And Caitlin?"

"She can protect herself better than Mackie can. She knows to be careful. Besides he doesn't go after anyone past the century mark."

"So why you?"

"I lead him to the young ones," Jack admitted unhappily. "I've been taking in and training young immortals for over seven hundred years. I've had five students, six including Mackie. If he can find us while they're young enough, he kills them."

"Can you defeat him?"

"I already told Mackie; I don't know. I've never actually fought him. He shows up enough to let me know he's there."

"So you're just hoping to keep Richie away from him for the next eighty years?"

"I swore to Mackie when he was a baby that I would protect him when he became immortal. I'm going to stand by that promise 'til my last breath."


	8. Chapter 8

Richie was gone for hours, though the crack of the shotgun ended after about forty minutes. Jack sat in the main room pretending to read and Duncan did kata after kata to relieve stress and feel a bit more productive. He had been worried about Richie and the new dangers Jack brought with him. But, Jack's admittance about Kurtz and how dangerous he was, how little they knew about him just made him worry all the more…

How could you hide to protect yourself when you knew someone was hunting your student?

Why would you not put yourself out there to stop the man preying on the young?

What kind of a teacher, claiming to be a father, let something like this continue to happen for so long?

Richie appeared out of the woods, sweaty with his gun resting on his shoulder. He paused, waiting for Duncan to notice him before accidentally startling him and stepping into the line of fire. Duncan saw him almost immediately and stopped. They nodded at each other, then Richie walked past and Duncan went back to his workout.

After putting up his shotgun and left over ammunition, Richie washed his face and went into the kitchen to see what was around for dinner. He added some wood to the stove and floured some chicken to fry.

"What's that great smell?" Jack asked, coming into the kitchen.

Richie paused. "Grease." He shook the pan to get the grease to spread.

Jack chuckled. "Good hunk of fry grease, that takes me back."

Richie nodded and sprinkled some salt and pepper onto the chicken while the grease heated.

"You okay, Mackie?"

"Fine, just a little tired," Richie lied.

"Have a good time target shooting?"

"Yeah, wasn't bad."

"What do you shoot at?"

"Old dead tree."

"You any good?"

"Not bad." He added a couple pieces of chicken to the pan.

"Didn't know you could cook."

"Tessa taught me."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked again.

"I'm fine!" Richie snapped, dropping a thigh and burning himself with the splattering grease. "Ah!"

"Let me- -" Jack reached for Riche's arm.

"I got it, I'm fine." Richie jerked away. "Leave me alone, already."

"Alright," he backed away. "Alright. If you need anything let- -"

"I got it!"

Without another word, Jack turned to leave. Duncan had come in at some point during the episode and quietly stood watching. He knew Richie hadn't spoken to Jack about the one thing that was really bothering him and now it was starting to build up. Richie had had his fuse lit over the issue more than once. When Jack had retreated to a safe distance, Duncan went into the kitchen.

"Talk to him," he said under his breath pumping some water to wash his face.

"Bite me," Richie retorted

"You're being a child."

"Don't get me started."

Duncan left knowing better than to get into it with Richie when he was like this.

"He'll get over it," he told Jack, joining him in the main room. "Unfortunately for him, he's never going to out grow that moody teenager phase."

"Unfortunately for us."

"That, too."

They made small talk until Richie mumbled dinner was ready. Dinner was quiet except for a few ignored compliments to the chef. After dinner, Richie washed the dishes and Duncan tried to help.

"Leave it," Richie all but growled at him when he reached to dry a plate.

"You are this close." Duncan let the threat hang unfinished.

This mood was getting too far out of hand. A large explosion was looming in the distance and no one was immune from it.

* * *

Richie sat on the porch clenching and unclenching his jaw, bouncing his knee, staring into the dark surrounding the cabin. He felt suffocated, relieved and on edge. Nature did that to him. It meant something was wrong. It meant he wasn't good enough to take care of himself. It meant there was danger and everyone was worried about him. But, it still got him away from the rush of the city.

He jerked up. Alert. Tense.

What was that?

He scanned the darkness. Leaves rustled and water moved, though the air was still. Something was hitting the water rhythmically. Like rowing a boat.

"Hey, Richie, I…"

"Shh." Richie concentrated on listening. He couldn't hear it again. He relaxed.

"What?"

"I heard something…"

Duncan frowned and listened.

"It's gone now. It was probably nothing."

"Keep an ear out."

"Yeah…" he vaguely shook his head. "What did you want?"

"Oh, I just made some dessert." He handed Richie an apple stuffed with raisins and oats.

"Cool, thanks." Richie took it. "Look, I'm sorry about…"

"I'm used to it. Maybe you should be talking to Jack."

"I know."

"Especially since he's the only one that can solve his issue."

"Don't 'shrink' me right now, Mac. I'm working on it."

"I'm giving Jack the bedroom," Duncan switched topics. "Mind sharing the loft?"

"Don't care."

"Good." He went back inside and Richie munched on his apple. He was sucking juice off his hand when Jack came out.

"Hey, Mackie."

"Muh," Richie grunted around a mouthful of food.

"So, what's going on with you?"

Richie sighed and sat back against the bench. "I don't know. I just… I don't know."

"Something's got you upset," Jack gently prodded. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Let's start with don't talk to me like I'm a kid. You and Mac are always talking to me like I'm too scared to say what I mean. Sometimes I just don't know. Really. I don't always know. If I did, I'd say something. Right now, all I know is that I'm in a bad mood and I'm sick of people trying to fix it. If it's bothering you so damn much, leave me the hell alone. Maybe that's what's wrong with me; I'm getting smothered by two guys trying to be my father and they have no business doing it!"

"Mackie…"

"It's Richie," he snapped. "Okay? Richie. Not Mackie. Not Mackenzie. Richie. Richard. That's my name. You're the one who gave it to me. You should get it."

"I'm sorry, Mac…Richie. I'll remember," Jack apologized.

They sat quietly after Richie's outburst. A twig snapped, both turned to look. A couple raccoons scurried out into the clearing and across the yard. Jack and Richie both let out a tense breath.

"Animals make so much noise," Jack tried to cut the tension.

"You left," Richie sad quietly. "You left me and Emily. What's wrong with you?" He got angry again. "What made you so damn important that you were exempt from common decency? What can a baby do that's so horrible that it makes someone leave?"

Jack looked at Richie, shocked. "Is that what you think?"

"Something had to have happened."

"It wasn't anything you did."

"Then what happened?"

"Your mother and I decided that it wouldn't be fair to put a three year old through this."

"Kurtz?"

"He found me here. He'd never found one of my children so young. I had no idea what he would and wouldn't be willing to do to you."

"You think he would have killed a baby?"

"I don't know. So when he found us, I decided to tell your mother the truth; tell her what I was. She didn't like it very much and kicked me out. We both thought you'd be safer away from me."

"What took you so long? Didn't you ever want to know we were okay?"

"I didn't want to put you in danger. I didn't even know if your mother would let me see you."

"Let you." Richie deadpanned, looking into the woods. "God." He shook his head.

"We can talk all this out at the ranch. Have you asked Duncan?"

"Why even bother talking to me about it?" Richie snapped. "Ask him yourself. If it's up to you two, why even pretend I have a say in it?"

"Of course your opinion matters."

"Does it? Then why didn't you jut ask me if I wanted to go? You told me to see if Mac would let me go. If it was okay with him for me to go. It's not his decision."

"He's your teacher, it's up to him."

"No, it's not. It's not his decision what I do. It's mine. I am a grown man. I make my own decisions."

"Richie…"

"I spent eighteen years being taught my opinion didn't matter. Everyone else always knew what was best for me. People I've never met made decisions for me. Where I lived, where I went to school, if it was working out or not. Mac's not like that. I make my own decisions, my own mistakes. I screw things up sometimes, but I'm the one who does it. It took me years to get used to it. I'm still getting used to it. But I'm not going back to not knowing where and when anymore. I won't do it."

"Do you want to go?" Jack asked.

"I don't know."

"Well, we—"

"Leave me alone," Richie mumbled, mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Jack nodded and left. Richie stayed out on the porch until long after the others had gone to bed.

* * *

Jack was building a fire when Duncan came down from the loft the next morning.

"I made coffee, hope you don't mind."

"No." Duncan went over to the stove and poured a cup. "So you and Richie got into it last night," he observed going into the main room.

"He did. I got put in my place by a twenty year old." Jack sat on the couch. "I suppose I am a little stuck in the old ways."

"Richie doesn't do well with being told what to do."

"You could have warned me."

"Not my place."

Jack sighed. "I guess the old ways had to change eventually."

"Especially with the new ones. This generation isn't one of conventionality."

"Is he still asleep up there?"

"He's somewhere." Duncan said. "He slept outside last night."

"Outside? I thought he hated nature?"

Duncan smiled. "Oh, yeah. He hates it alright. Hates it so much he spends the whole time outside when he's here. He just never seems to remember between trips."

"Blocking memories?"

"He has to have something to complain about," Duncan sighed. "It's just one of those things that make him who he is."

"He turned into quite the young man."

"He did."

The conversation was a little to familial for the practical strangers, so they stopped. Not too long after the silence began, it, too, became uncomfortable.

"I'd better start breakfast." Duncan got up. "Richie!" He pounded on the wall separating the living room and the porch. "Get up!"

"I'll get him." Jack went for the door.

Duncan headed for the kitchen, but before he could do much more than put a skillet on the stove, Jack was back.

"He's not there."

"I'll check the back." Duncan looked out the window above the sink. He saw a blanket and pillow on the bench. "He was back here." He opened the back door and went out into the yard. "Richie? You back there?" He called up the trail to the outhouse.

Jack cupped his hands around his mouth. "Richie!"

"I'll check." Duncan jogged up the path.

Jack went to check the front again. No trace. He could hear Duncan calling from the woods. They met up again in the back.

"Something's wrong," Duncan stated. He looked at the blanket and pillow on the bench where Richie had slept. Nothing seems out of place. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.

"These your footprints?" Jack called from behind the wood pile.

Duncan looked. "No. And too big to be Richie's."

Jack's heart stopped as he followed the deep set prints to the water side where they found runs of sand. Left by a boat that had come and gone.

"Damn it!"


	9. Chapter 9

Kurtz took plenty of time enjoying Duncan and Jack's worry. Four days after the two men arrived back in town from the cabin, Kurtz phoned them in Jack's hotel room. He gave them directions to another cabin not far inland from where Duncan parked the T-bird when he went to his island. By the time they arrived, night had fallen and the wind blowing off the lake chilled them to the spine. Or maybe it was the stillness of it all. Somewhere nearby, they hoped to find Richie alive, but the calm didn't lend itself to anything being alive in the dense woods.

"You take care of Richie; I'll deal with Kurtz," Jack told Duncan as they approached the quiet, dark, rundown cabin.

Duncan didn't respond, just kept his mind, eyes, and ears open in case of a surprise attack. How could they have let themselves feel so secure? Why on earth did it not occur to him to keep Richie inside? They were, after all, hiding from an immortal. Holy Ground was not the safe haven it had once been. While most immortals abided by the no fighting rule, nothing else seemed to be included.

The two men paused just out of buzz-range of the cabin. They were anxious to see if they could feel Richie's presence, but not quite ready to let Kurtz know they were there. In silent agreement, they took two steps forward…and felt the buzz of a single immortal ahead. They looked at each other, drew their swords and continued towards the dark cabin.

Jack pushed open the door, but Duncan entered first, katana at the ready. Jack followed smoothly behind him. Duncan took out a flashlight and illuminated the area a small circle at a time. They were in a one room cabin, bare of furniture. Near the back corner a blanket lay over a human form, a bare foot sticking out. Duncan immediately identified the foot as Richie's; the mole on the sole of his foot under his middle toe was the identifying mark.

Praying there was a leg, torso, neck, and head attached to the foot, Duncan rushed to the blanket. He pulled it back and shone his light on the pale blue face and unseeing, bloodshot eyes of his dear friend. Pulling it back further, Duncan exposed the naked, mutilated body. His entrails were spilled out onto the floor beside him, his legs crooked and arms bent everywhere but at the elbows. He sucked in a sharp breath and quickly replaced the blanket.

"He's here," Duncan chocked out around the bile in his throat. Jack was standing over him, nearly as pale as Richie's dead body.

"I'll find him. Take Richie home."

Duncan nodded, but didn't make any move to touch the mangle corpse.

"Jack," he said as the other man went for the door. "Meet us at the dojo."

Jack nodded and went out the door. Duncan gulped and used the blanket to move Richie's innards back inside where they belonged. The quickening slowly began to flash over Richie's flesh, lurching over the expansive wounds trying to heal them. But, the damage was so extensive and Richie was so young that his quickening was too weak to do much good. Duncan was going to have to help him along, but he'd have to get him home first.

* * *

Just a few paces away from the dilapidated cabin, Jack felt the buzz of another immortal. Kurtz was waiting for him. Taking command of his senses, Jack slowed his pace, kept his sword up and strained for any clue as to where Kurtz was hiding.

"He's stronger than he looks," Kurtz's voice spoke up from the surrounding woods. "He held out much longer than I would have thought possible."

"Forget the small talk. Let's finish this," Jack demanded, turning in the direction of the voice.

"Didn't even make a sound until I showed him his own spleen."

"Come out!"

"After that… well, I'm surprised he didn't lead you right to us."

"Show yourself."

"He never cried, though. I was surprised. That's usually the first thing they do."

"Fight me!"

"He just wanted his daddy…not you, of course. He kept calling for MacLeod. Apparently he's not quite warmed up to you, yet." He appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, in front of Jack. "Pity you won't have the chance to see if your little idea will work."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked, taking a step back.

"The little trip home to Texas." Kurtz smiled. "I know all about it. You have to get him away from MacLeod if you are ever going to get the chance to win him back. He doesn't fully trust you."

"Stop talking and we can end this now."

"Don't you even want to know what I did to him? Why? How he begged for me to take his head?"

Screaming out an animal cry, Jack swung for Kurtz's neck.

* * *

Duncan regained his composure after the initial shock of seeing the state Richie was in. Knowing that if he was going to help Richie he had to get them home where they would be undisturbed and safe, he wrapped the corpse up in the blanket and picked it up. Another bone snapped as Richie's arm met Duncan's chest.

"Sorry, Rich," Duncan mumbled. He kicked the door open and made his way towards the car. It was Jack's rental. It hadn't occurred to either man that if Duncan was to take Richie home, he'd need the keys. "Looks like the car is about to get stolen."

As gently as he could, Duncan laid Richie's body across the back seat and moved into position to hot wire the car. As he fumbled with the wires, he heard a yell and the clash of two swords. Distracted, he listened trying to decipher who was winning. But the battle was short and a quickening erupted in the woods yards from where the car was parked. Abruptly, Duncan realized he left his katana in the cabin next to where Richie had been laying.

"I'll be right back." He felt oddly compelled to carry on a conversation with Richie in the back seat. He jogged his way back to the cabin and retrieved his sword.

As he returned to the car, he saw a man approaching them from out of the woods. He put up his sword and moved to block the man's path to Richie. The buzz of an immortal washed over him as he planted himself before the car and the other man raised his sword.

"We finish this now."

* * *

Duncan pulled into the back alley of the dojo and next to the stairs that lead to the upstairs apartment. Glancing around to check that the coast was clear, he opened the back door and began the task of removing Richie's limp body. His limbs flopped at awkward angles and Duncan had to look away to ease his stomach. After several attempts, and a dislocated shoulder, the body was in Duncan's arms, the smell of blood and decomposing organs assaulting his nostrils. Duncan focused his energy, trying to distract his senses and focus on other matters as he carried the body up, somehow managing to unlock the door, and into the apartment.

He took the body straight to his bed and laid it out, bracing himself before removing the blanket. Most of his intestines had remained inside, but a few feet had been jostled back out. It took Duncan the better part of an hour to move everything relatively back to where it belonged. Then he set to work on the bones, straightening out Richie's arms and legs, snapping them back into place. Richie's face remained eerily emotionless as the makeshift medical procedures were preformed on him. After doing all he could to speed up the healing process for now, Duncan covered Richie with clean blankets to warm him and took time to shower and calm his nerves before deciding what to do next.

There was no telling how long it would take Richie to heal. There wasn't really anything he could do to help. At least not on his own. It was too dangerous to try advancing Richie's healing ability without anyone else there should anything go wrong. Maybe it would be best to let Richie heal a bit on his own before trying anything risky. He camped down on the couch, close enough to hear if Richie made the slightest sound, but far enough away that the stench of the corpse in his bed didn't over power his nostrils.

* * *

Duncan was surprised to be woken up by the afternoon sun coming through the kitchen area windows. The night before, he hadn't figured he'd get any sleep at all. Every little sound had him investigating what was going on in the street, hunting down a dripping faucet and checking to see if Richie had started breathing yet. Apparently, exhaustion over took him at some point in the early morning and he had slept until well past his usual wake up time, well past Richie's usual wake up time.

He checked on Richie to see if there was any change, but there wasn't. His quickening was still struggling to decide what to work on first. The blue light still flickered over his abdomen trying to heal the gaping hole as well as move organs back into their proper placements.

"You smell, Rich," Duncan told the corpse, recovering him with a blanket.

He moved into the kitchen and tried to decide what sounded good to eat, but it was hard to think of food with a decomposing corpse in the bed across the room. He was about to talk himself into an apple when the phone rang.

"MacLeod."

"Hey, Mac, it's Joe. Richie okay?" Duncan had contacted Joe as soon as he could after Richie's disappearance to see if there were any leads.

"In a manner of speaking."

"He shut down?"

"He's temporarily dead."

"Sources say you two got back last night."

"We did. He's still dead."

There was a pause. "So he got the whole treatment, then?"

"What do you mean the whole treatment?"

"Legs broken to prevent escape, arms broken to keep him from fighting back…a living autopsy?"

"You knew this was going to happen to him?" Duncan demanded, hissing into the phone, glancing at the body in his bed.

"Kurtz had a pattern. There was no way of telling for sure."

"You could have said something."

"Why? Get more worked up than you were? MacLeod, the last thing I wanted to do was distract you. I wanted Kurtz dead just as much as anyone."

"You could have said something," he repeated.

"It wouldn't have done either one of you any good."

Duncan didn't answer.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Hopefully…"

"But?" Joe prompted.

"But his body can't take the damage. His whole system is confused."

"You going to lend him a hand?"

Duncan didn't answer straight away. "I don't know how safe it would be. I've never done it before, I've just heard about it. Does it work?"

"All research says it does. I've read dozens of reports on it. It seems pretty simple. It's like an immortal blood transfusion."

"But, I can't do it if it's going to leave us both vulnerable."

"What if you had some help?"

"Joe, I appreciate the gesture, but what good are you going to be against another immortal…no offence."

"I may not have been dealing with immortals for as long as you, but I do know how to handle myself," Joe defended. "And besides, all the research suggests that the transfer leaves the donor woozy for just a few minutes and helps the guy on the receiving end enormously."

"Easy for you to say. This is what keeps me alive and able to protect him until he can protect himself."

"Just think about it; his body is probably already starting to smell, isn't it? He's decomposing. How can his body heal while it's trying to keep everything from breaking down? He's too young. Your body can't handle this type of damage, how is he supposed to deal with it?"

"I can take care of him myself."

"You going to turn down the thermostat and turn your place into a morgue?"

"I'll take care of it," Duncan snapped.

"Fine, the offer's on the table, though…hey, MacLeod?"

"What?" Duncan rubbed at his temples. It was a hard enough decision to make without high pressure sales tactics.

"What if I can bring in another immortal? Someone you trust to stand guard, or make the donation?"

Duncan sighed and leaned against the counter. "Who do you have in mind?"

* * *

The air conditioner was down as low as it would go, constantly humming, trying to cool down the large open space of the studio apartment and despite the cold temperatures outside, the windows were open, partly to help cool down the loft, and partly to help the smell dissipate. Joe was right, not that Duncan was ready to admit it; he had to do something or Richie's body would never heal. Duncan picked up the phone to call Joe and take him up on his offer, but there was no answer.

"It's me. I think I may need a hand. Give me a call back."

No sooner had he hung up the phone, then there was a knock at the door. He started to answer it, but the tingle of a near by immortal washed over him as he approached the door.


	10. Chapter 10

"Who is it?" he demanded.

"Me, and Joe," a female voice answered. "Are you going to let us in or not, MacLeod?"

Letting go of the breath he had been holding, Duncan opened the door. As promised, it was Amanda and Joe on the other side.

"How is he?" Amanda asked gently, looking past him into the apartment.

"No change; he may be getting worse," Duncan admitted, letting his friends in.

Amanda went directly to the bed, taking off a glove as she approached. She gently pushed a stray hair out of Richie's face and probed his chest gently.

"He's swelling," she reported. Duncan nodded; he'd been trying to ignore it. "We'd better do something now before it takes too much of everyone's energy."

"That's why I called."

"You called?" Joe asked, setting up his laptop on the desk.

"Just now,what are you doing?"

"Documentation," the mortal admitted carefully. "This could come in handy. A first hand experience; it needs to be recorded."

"Duncan," Amanda stepped beside him. "We should get started before he gets any worse." She held up a long, narrow dagger. "Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

"I'll do it." He took hold of the dagger and went to the bed. Amanda drew back the blanket as he rolled up the sleeve of his sweater.

"Don't do too much at once," she told him. "I've done this before, we have to be careful."

Duncan nodded, kneeling next to the bed. He held out his left arm and cut a long, deep gash from his elbow to his wrist. Gently, he laid his arm wound to wound with Richie's abdomen and let his quickening go.

The soft blue light danced back and forth occasionally sparking out from between the two fleshes. Richie's open wound began to glow as the quickening ventured inside his body and searched out any damaged organs. Duncan had to look away and Joe peeked up curiously as Richie's innards moved around in search of their proper placements.

"That's disgusting," Amanda moaned, taking a step back.

Richie's body settled, and then reached its quickening capacity. There was a large flash when the unused quickening was rejected from the body cavity at once. The force of the raw energy pushed Duncan away and he fell to the floor as if he'd been shot.

"You alright, MacLeod?" Joe asked, pausing his note taking.

"Fine." He got up slowly, his hand to his head. "Just fine."

"You're dizzy," Amanda observed, reaching out to help steady him. "Why don't you sit down?"

"No. I'm fine. Let's go again."

"I don't think so," she steered him to the couch. "Richie needs his rest and so do you. It's not good for either one of you to over do it."

Joe pecked away at the keyboard until he was satisfied with his account of the first round.

"How long until he's up again?" Joe asked.

"A while," Amanda answered. "Another dose or two should heal up that, the incision. Then another two should get him breathing and healing on his own."

"You really have done this before."�

"A couple times. It's only really effective in extreme cases."

"You seen anything like this before?" Duncan asked.

Amanda glanced over her shoulder at Richie in the bed. "I've seen worse, but not by much."

After about half an hour, Duncan was feeling better and Amanda decided to take her turn in getting Richie alive. The smell was starting to get to everyone. She knelt on the floor next to the bed and pushed up her sleeve. As Duncan had done, she cut her arm and laid it across the wound. To keep her Quickening working longer, she put a finger in the cut on her arm to prevent it from healing.

The light slowly ventured out from her body and was drawn to Richie's body. At first it looked as if nothing was happening, but after a few minutes, soft, pink flesh began to appear around the edges of the wound as Richie's body began to regenerate what it needed. Amanda held her composure long enough to partially close the wound before she had to take a break and regain her strength.

An hour later, Duncan took his turn and left Richie with a raised scar, but at least his organs were no longer exposed. With all the body fluids safely sealed back where they belonged, they decided to change the sheets and bathe Richie to hopefully get rid of the smell. It took all three of them and some creative maneuvering, but they eventually had Richie carefully dressed and lying on fresh sheets.

"This last one should do it," Amanda announced hopefully. She got onto the bed next to Richie's nearly flesh colored form and sat cross legged looking down at him. She put her left hand on his chest and raised her right over her head, clutching the dagger. Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes, she plunged the blade through the back of her hand and into Richie's body. Her hand began to glow as if there were a flashlight shining behind it.

With an agitated cough and a spasm, Richie gasped for air as Duncan helped Amanda pull the dagger out. His eyes flashed open for a moment, the surge of Quickening bringing him back to life moments before he died of his newest injury.

"That's it," Amanda whispered as she fell limp onto the pillows.

Joe stared wide-eyed then began typing furiously at his keyboard trying to describe everything in the best detail he could and wishing that he had been insensitive enough to bring a camera to record all that had just happened. Proving the theory true with more than just hearsay was going to open a whole new area of research and understanding about immortals. Duncan looked at him, agitated. Joe understood that the immortal didn't like the idea of being a file in someone's drawer, much less a test subject revealing more to the Watchers than the immortals cared for them to know. He finished up his report as quickly as he could, leaving overly detailed, nonsensical sentences that he'd fix later in the privacy of his own home.

He shut the computer and moved to the living area, taking a seat and fiddling with the chess set on the coffee table. Duncan leaned on the kitchen counter, looking out the window and they silently waited for Amanda to wake up. It didn't take her long. The power of the two quickenings colliding was more than any immortal could handle. Once she regained consciousness, the three silently coordinated shifts for being in charge.

Duncan took the first shift, making dinner while dosed on the bed next to Richie and Joe looked through Duncan's library. No one really wanted to eat, but it gave them something to do. The dishes were something to do as well, and they somehow managed to make it into a grueling three man task.

Amanda took the next shift in charge. She put on the kettle and made everybody a cup of tea. Duncan barely made it halfway through the cup before passing out on the couch. Joe stared from his seat out the window until his body shut down from lack of interest. Amanda found the cleaning supplies and set to scrubbing the death out of the apartment. She was on her hands and knees scrubbing a hand made woven rug when Joe woke up and decided it was his turn to take over, helping her up and pressing a hot cup of tea into her hands.

Nothing much happened for two days. On the third day, while everyone was in a trance thanks to the on going investigation of the two headless bodies found in the woods being broadcast around the clock, the former corpse in the bed began to move.

"Mac?" a horse voice whispered. The three in the living room looked at each other, confused as to who had just spoken.

"Mac?" the voice asked, a little stronger. They looked over at the bed, where Richie had awkwardly tried to roll over, but his body refused to cooperate.

"Mac?"

Duncan all but leapt over the couch to get to Richie as the young immortal's voice began to hint at panic.

"I'm here," Duncan said, sliding a bit on his knees in his haste to get into position beside the bed. "I'm here."

"Good." And Richie was back asleep.

"You're kidding," Joe groaned from his chair. "After all the waiting we've done, he finally wakes up; just to make sure someone was around?" His voice was a mix of humor and annoyance. "That's all we get?"

"I thought Richie was supposed to be dramatic?" Amanda added.

Duncan just looked at them. "Are you two serious?"

"Mac?" Richie interrupted before an argument could start.

"Yeah, Rich?"

"I can't feel anything," he complained in a slurred whisper.

"Everything's there, I promise," Duncan told him. "Are you hungry?"

"Little,"

Amanda jumped up to make herself useful and put on the soup they had made the day before to heat.

"How you feeling?"

Richie's eyes cracked open and he looked around the room. His eyes passed over Duncan and came to rest on Joe and Amanda.

"Everybody here." It wasn't a question, or a statement, it was a realization.

"Everybody's here," Duncan told him.

"Thought so,"

"Stay awake and we'll get you something to eat."

"'M hungry,"

"I know. We're working on it."

Amanda dished out some soup, mostly broth, into a coffee cup and brought it over to the bed. She held onto the cup while Duncan titled Richie's head up. Richie took a few sips before grunting he was finished and closing his eyes.

Every few hours, Richie woke up and took a few more sips of broth before drifting back to sleep. By that evening, he was awake enough to carry on short conversations. Joe sat down at the desk and typed up some more notes while Amanda and Duncan went into nesting mode. They hurried about making sure everything was perfect and checked on Richie every few minutes.

"Would you two pause and take a breath?" Joe looked up from his laptop. "The kid doesn't care if the drapes have been dusted. He's fine. He'll wake up. The worst was over ages ago."

Duncan and Amanda stopped mid-task and looked at Joe.

"Calm down," he translated. "You're just driving yourselves crazy."

They agreed, though not in so many words and stopped working. Duncan took a seat on a chair where he had a clear view of Richie, but Amanda opted for the more direct approach and sat on the bed next to him. She smoothed back his hair, unkempt from the awkward washing and lack of brushing. Duncan and Joe watched as she took one of his hands in hers and held it gently, while still stroking his hair with the other. They hadn't thought Amanda cared that deeply for Richie. Sure, she liked to flirt with and tease him, but they had figured it was more of something she did because she could, because of the way he melted if she just acknowledged he was in the room, to mess with him.

"For a kid who couldn't figure out why no one wanted him, he sure ended up with a big family," Joe murmured to himself.

"What?" Duncan asked, as if startled out of a trance.

"Nothing."

Duncan went back to watching Amanda. He'd never seen her act so, well, maternal before. She never seemed to type to really lament not being able to have children, she'd never expressed and interest before. But as he watched her, he wondered if he and she would have made good parents had they the chance.

Amanda settled down on the bed in anticipation for a long wait. Richie had woken a little more than an hour ago and probably wouldn't be up for quite a while, yet.

"I could get used to this,"

Or maybe he was ready now.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day Richie was up and moving around; he tired easily, but was mostly recovered. Especially his appetite. So far he had eaten a frozen pizza, two turkey sandwiches, an omelet, and four apples… it was just past two in the afternoon.

"How you doing?" Duncan asked Richie, waiting for Joe to admit he was one move away from checkmate.

"You have any juice?" Richie asked, his head in the fridge.

"You already finished it."

"Oh." He closed the door. "Ice cream?"

"No."

"Popsicles?"

"Sorry."

"Nutin'."

Duncan smiled at the familiar situation. "Should I go to the store?"

"Got any soda?"

"Probably no—"

"Bingo." Richie popped the top.

"Make a list.' Duncan made his final move. "Checkmate."

"Damn." Joe sat back on the couch.

Richie settled on a bar stool with pen and paper from a drawer. Amanda left the couch and joined him.

"Feeling better?"

"Tired."

"Yeah?" She put a hand on his forehead. "You're warm."

"I'm freezing." He hunched into his sweatshirt.

"Why don't you…"

"I'm good." He started his list.

"You're not hungry." She took his pen.

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"Thief," Richie irritably shot back.

"I could say the same." She wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"I'm fine, Amanda."

"Liar."

"Amanda…"

"Yes?"

"Knock it off."

"You can't ignore it."

"Watch me." He took his unwritten list to the desk, veering slightly as he walked. It'd be time for a nap soon.

Amanda left him alone and went back to Joe and Duncan.

"Good try," Joe shrugged.

"He'll come to us when he's ready," Duncan told them. "Until then, let him take care of himself."

Later that day, Duncan and Joe decided to do the shopping and leave Amanda to handle Richie. He seemed more comfortable around women in times like this.

"What's his excuse today?" Charlie grumbled as Duncan walked past the machine he was cleaning, which was Richie's job.

Duncan grabbed Charlie's arm, a little harder than he had meant to, and took him aside.

"Those bodies they found, you've heard about that?" he asked in a low tone.

"Yeah, who hasn't; it's all over the news."

"One of them was Richie's father."

Charlie eyed him. "Are you serious?"

"He needs some time."

"Well, yeah, man, of course…"

"Thanks."

"Tell him I'm sorry."

"I will. And don't spread this around. He doesn't want everyone to know. If anyone asks, he's sick."

"Sure, man. No problem."

When they got back, Amanda was flipping through a book and Richie was nowhere to be seen. Duncan put his grocery bags on the counter.

"Where is he?"

"Roof. He's having deep philosophical thoughts."

"Oh," Duncan nodded. "He does that." He started to put away the groceries.

"Thoughts about what?" Joe asked.

"Life and death," Amanda answered, still page turning.

"The ultimate deep thought."

"I'm going to check on him." Duncan started toward the back staircase.

"He wants to be alone," she told him.

"He can tell me that himself." He went up the backstairs and out into the cool evening air. Richie was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the side of the building, his feet dangling over the edge.

"You should wear your shoes," Duncan said, sitting next to Richie.

"You sound like Tessa. She thought you'd never get sick or hurt just so long as you wore shoes."

Duncan shifted uncomfortably on the ledge. "I hate it when you do this. Doesn't it scare you?"

Richie laughed a bitter, scoffing laugh. "You're kidding right? After all the crap I've lived through, immortal and otherwise, I should be scared of not having my feet on the ground?"

"Well, it scares the hell outta me."

"You can move."

"I'm trying to talk to you."

Richie sighed. "Mac, I'm fine; I'm over it; I'm used to it."

"That scares me the most. Death isn't something you should get used to."

"Mac, let me spell it out for you. I. Want. To. Be. A. Lone. Go away."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Alright." Duncan got up and turned to leave.

"For the record," Richie said before he closed the door behind him. "I didn't mean I was used to death. I mean I was used to not having him around."

"Okay." Duncan closed the door, knowing there was nothing he could do.

"Now everything's back to normal," Richie told the street.

EPILOGUE

"Don't forget the showers," Charlie smiled, pushing an old mop into Richie's hands.

"Payback's a bitch," Richie mumbled.

"Feels pretty good from this end."

"I figured as much." He took his mop and bucket and went off to scrub and wash down the filthiest room in the building.

Charlie watched him go with a satisfied smirk. Once Richie came back, Duncan had stepped back and let Charlie take charge. Richie actually showed up on time and did his work. And with all the busy grunt work taken care of, Charlie could concentrate on the running of the dojo. Except Duncan tended to camp out on the computer feeding his antique hobby.

"So you going to settle the accounts while you're on there?" Charlie asked, looming over Duncan.

"Naw, that's what I pay you for," he smiled.

"You're in a good mood."

"I just got a four thousand dollar piece for eighty dollars at a garage sale."

"That'd put me in a good mood too. Such a good mood, I'd let my staff off early since no one's here…"

Duncan grinned. "Sure, why not. Take a long weekend. I can handle the place."

"Serious?"

"Sure, enjoy."

"Thanks, man." Charlie grabbed his jacket and made for door. MacLeod could tell the kid he was off.

"Excuse me, I'm looking---"

"Office," Charlie cheerily cut him off.

"Thanks," the man said. He started for the office, but Duncan was already approaching him. "I'm a friend of Jack's," he assured him, hands in the air. "My name is Richard. I came to bring Mackenzie his share of the estate."

"Mackenzie?" Duncan hadn't heard that name in a while.

"Yes. We're sort of brothers, well, as close as a few guys like us can get. Is he around? Or Duncan MacLeod? Mackenzie lives with him now."

"I'm Duncan MacLeod. And 'Mackenzie' is right in there."

Richard made no move toward the locker room. "Can I go see him?"

"He's an adult," Duncan shrugged. "It's up to him."

"Oh, well, thank you." Richard went into the locker room and heard a lone voice muttering.

"Filthy bastards, none of them ever heard of a towel?"

Richard followed the voice and saw a young blonde haired man wiping down lockers splattered with some cream.

"You don't pay me enough, Mac," the young man said, not looking up.

"I don't pay you at all."

The young man looked up in surprise at the strange voice.

"Mr. MacLeod told me you were back here."

"Ooookay," Richie drawled. "And you would be?"

"Richard. Ryan. I came up to give you this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "It's your share of the estate," he explained. "We sold most of Jack's things and split the money."

"Oh, uh…" Richie took the envelope. "Thanks, I guess. I…" he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Sure, kid. You're one of us."

"I guess so."

"There's a list in there too. How to get in contact with any of us. If you need to. Anytime."

"Um, okay, thanks."

Richie didn't know what to say. He had gotten over, well, not over, but past everything with Jack. He hadn't expected anything else. Much less more people showing up trying to act like old family.

"Of course."

They stood awkwardly neither sure what to do next.

"So, uh, thanks and all, but I have ta get back to work."

"He had something he wanted to give you. I brought that, too."

"Sure, thanks, uh, could you just leave it in the office or something? I really gotta get this taken care of…" The situation was just too strange for him. He wanted out.

"Sure, I'll leave it with Mr. MacLeod."

"Thanks." Richie went back to scrubbing.

"No problem."

One Richard left, Richie sat down on one of the benches. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when Duncan came in to get him.

"Rich, you should come out here."

Richie followed him out into the office.

"Out there."

Richie looked out the office window. Parked next to his, second hand, spare parts, labor of love, was a brand new, shiny, limited edition Harley.

"Whose is it?" Richie asked carefully. Duncan smiled innocently at him. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's yours."

"MacLeod, don't shit with me."

"It's from Jack."

In a blink, Richie was out the door and around the corner. He dashed for the bike, but stopped short of touching it. Like an archeologist gathering the nerve to touch a priceless artifact, he examined the bike, his hands tracing the air around it.

"Are you going to keep it?" Duncan asked, amused.

"Did he already leave?"

"He said you seemed pretty upset."

"Yeah, well, now I feel like a jack ass."

"You should."

"I do," Richie assured him, straddling the bike. "Oh, man." He ran his hands over the chrome and leather. His other bike caught his eye. "Don't feel bad, baby. You're gonna look like this some day."

"I heard you ran into some money today. You could hit the garage tonight."

"That's true. I could work on her all weekend."

He dug in his pocket for the envelope. Any paper in his possession for more than five seconds instantly looked like an old treasure map; this one was no different. He tore it open, hoping his inheritance would buy him at least some of the parts he still needed.

"Holy…" It would, and then some. "I think I got more money than you, now," he drooled up at Duncan.

"Let me see that." Duncan took the cashiers check out of Richie's hands. He had to count the zeros several times. "Close," he had to admit. "If you play your cards right this can last you quite a while."

"Now I know I'm a jack ass." Richie took the check back. "Wouldn't even talk to the guy."

"You could always call him." Duncan gestured to the second page in the envelope.

"Yeah, I should."

In the office, Richie dialed Richard's hotel. "Can I have room 628 please?... Hey, Richard, it's uh, well, Mackenzie, I guess… I was, uh, just wondering how long you were going to be in town. Maybe we could do dinner or something…"


End file.
